Drawn
by decemberWriter
Summary: Ichigo hadn't realized how much her drawing had improved. ..Drabbleish, slight implied IchiRuki/KaienRuki..


**((Disclaimer))** Bleach is property of Kubo Tite and all his peeps.

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**Drawn**

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Ichigo had stumbled across the plain black sketchpad shoved in the middle of a haphazard mess under his bed. At first he was confused – where the heck could it have come from? But then, the obvious (and only) solution struck him.

Rukia.

Curious now, Ichigo extracted the book from its nest of old juice boxes and used-up crayons. Temporarily ignoring the fact that Rukia had been secretly using the space under his bed as a burial ground for her junk, he sat down in his desk chair and flipped open the front cover.

What a shock it was, then, to see himself almost mirroring the pose.

_What the - ?_

Ichigo stared, stunned, at the rough pencil drawing of himself, sitting at his desk and reading a book, looking rather bored. He even recognized the design on the shirt – it was one of his favorites.

Ichigo was so absorbed in the picture, it took him a moment to notice the small, slightly uneven handwriting in the corner.

_9/21/20—  
__Ichigo studying_

Curious now, he began to slowly flip the pages.

The next picture was also him, but this time in Shinigami form. On the third page, though, was Renji. Then, Byakuya.

Orihime. Chad. Uryuu. Tatsuki. Ukitake-taichou.

Ichigo carefully turned page after page, each one decorated with pencil sketches of many people he knew, and a few that he didn't. Every picture was dated and titled in the corner, in the same cramped script as before.

Ichigo hadn't realized how good Rukia's drawing had become.

The portraits weren't perfect – this was Rukia, bunny artist extraordinaire, after all – but they were definite improvements over the rough crayon scribbles she called "masterpieces". Each line seemed to be carefully and specifically placed, painstakingly stroked out, gently handled to prevent smearing the familiar features she was recreating.

Finally, after a portrait of Kon that was unnervingly life-like, Ichigo reached the last page of the sketchbook.

On it was the incomplete drawing of a tall, strong-jawed man with black hair that looked uncannily like Ichigo himself. He was grinning widely, almost smirking, and one eye was closed in a wink. Currently, he sported three pairs of faint, sketched-in arms, each in a different pose – like Rukia hadn't decided how they should look yet. In the bottom corner were several uneven splotches. Like she had spilled something on the page and it dried, Ichigo thought.

There was no date or title in the corner, probably because the drawing wasn't finished. But Ichigo couldn't help being curious. Even when he hadn't recognized the faces, even when names like _Miyako_ had no meaning, they were, at least, _identifiable_. This man was a myst-

"WHAT THE HECK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU BASTARD?!"

Ichigo started and looked up guiltily, but Rukia was faster. She snatched the sketchbook out of his hands and, before he could draw breath to defend himself – _thwack_!

"OW! Hey, midget watch- OW!"

Ichigo leaped up from his chair and angrily tried to swat the large wooden spoon out of Rukia's hand, but she ducked easily and whacked him on the shoulder.

After a brief scuffle over the spoon – of which Ichigo was quickly coming to hate – the two squared off, panting slightly and glaring daggers from across the room.

"I come to tell you Yuzu's left cookie dough in the fridge, and what are you doing?! Snooping through my personal belongings!" Rukia clutched the sketchbook to her chest and waved the spoon in what seemed dangerously like a slash with a katana.

"How was I supposed to know it's personal?! It was under MY bed!" Ichigo scowled, gingerly rubbing the two tender bumps on the top of his head.

"Because it OBVIOUSLY was!"

"It was NOT!"

"Was TOO!"

Ichigo's mouth was wide open, ready to form the words "It was NOT!", when he suddenly stopped. A moment later, he said quietly, "Yeah, it was."

Rukia tensed, regarding him with a skeptical, wary glare.

As much as he hated to admit it, the drawings in Rukia's sketchbook had obviously been long, hard labors of love. Ichigo was a first-hand witness to how horribly Rukia could mangle the simplest of everyday objects; to have portrayed real people in such a lifelike way could have been no small task for the wannabe artist.

And somewhere, in the back of his mind, the unfinished drawing of the black-haired man lingered - unnamed, unknown.

Ichigo bit back a scowl at the thought of actually _letting_ the tiny shinigami win a fight, but forced himself to continue.

"…Sorry."

The silence stretched out, heavy and uncomfortable, as Rukia obviously debated his sincerity. Eventually, she let the hand clutching the spoon drop to her side and turned toward the door.

Halfway down the hall, Ichigo heard her footsteps pause. Then, they slowly grew louder as she retraced her steps back to his bedroom.

"Well?" Rukia's face popped into the door frame. "Your family's not going to be at the store forever, fool. If you want cookie dough, you better get it now." She didn't wait for his reply before spinning on her heel and disappearing back down the hall.

"Wait, Rukia!"

Rukia stopped and looked back over her shoulder, frowning slightly. "What?"

Ichigo smirked slightly as he declared, "I never thought I'd say this, but your handwriting sucks even more than your drawing."

**xXxXxXx**

"Oh no!"

Karin stuck her head into the kitchen, looking at her twin with bored curiosity. "What's the matter, Yuzu?"

"My best cooking spoon is broken," Yuzu said, tearfully holding up the splintered remains of what was once a solid wooden spoon.

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**((Random Notes)) **We-e-ell... I really like the idea behind the story, but I don't think it came out quite the way I wanted. I'd love to hear what you thought as a reader, and about I could improve the whole idea, really. (And yes, I am procrastinating. I am avoiding other projects that I _should_ be working on. I admit it.)

But that's okay. Because I've got NEARLY THREE WHOLE MONTHS OF FREEDOM to kill! ;D (Gotta love summer vacation).

- decemberWriter


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